


Chicken Soup for the Revenant-Hunter's Soul

by mlraven



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Caretaking, Cold Medicine, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/pseuds/mlraven
Summary: After they get Dolls back, he’s sick in bed for three weeks.Wynonna and Doc try to take care of their partner after his miraculous escape. It goes about as well as can be expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arsenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/gifts).



> Happy Chocobox 2k17, Arsenic! 
> 
> I hope you like this-- I saw hurt/comfort in your letter coupled with the fact that it's pretty cold where I am, and voila! (Plus, you requested one of my favorite under-written ships, which just, twist my arm :D)
> 
> Thanks to #yuletide chat for the word wars and advice, and thanks to ___ for their excellent and speedy beta!
> 
> Title from the strangely omnipresent book series from our collective childhoods.

After they get Dolls back, he’s sick in bed for three weeks. No amount of frantic WebMDing reveals the source— it’s not norovirus, or swine flu, or pneumonia (Doc checked twice). Finally, Waverly diagnoses him with an acute case of post-traumatic decompression sickness, and explains that getting sick immediately after returning to a safe place from a stressful situation is common, apparently.

“Researchers see it frequently in high-stress populations like genocide survivors, and college students,” she says seriously, and winks at Dolls when Wynonna begins to complain about how hokey it all sounds.

As his partners, Wynonna announces, she and Doc will take care of him in his time of need. She moves Dolls onto the couch in the homestead living room, and promptly begins fussing over him.

Wynonna’s bedside manner repertoire is comprised entirely of hovering over Dolls, bringing him endless glasses of ginger ale and plates of saltines until he glares balefully up at her and tells her he’s well enough to get his own crackers, dammit. She quickly retreats to the kitchen to drink whiskey, leaving the caretaking to Doc.

Though Doc hasn’t been sick in several centuries, he was once a dentist, and he knows enough to keep the patient entertained with card games. Dolls is so doped up on cough medicine that it takes him most of a game of Hold’em to realize that Doc’s been stashing cards up his shirtsleeves.

“Hey!” he says belligerently, his usual intensity belied somewhat by his unceasing sniffling. “You—” he points an accusing finger at Doc, who paints an innocent expression on his face while graciously overlooking the fact that Dolls has dropped not only his ball of used Kleenex, but also an Ace of Hearts out of his grubby shirtsleeve. “You cheated!”

Doc pretends to look shocked.

“Why, I have never cheated at a card game in my entire centuries-long cussed life! All this here is natural talent.”

“Natural talent at counting cards!” Wynonna hollers from the kitchen, where she’s attempting to make chicken soup. So far she’s only managed to burn a pot (she forgot she’d set the water to boil) and mangle a chicken carcass so badly it looks like it belongs in Two-Faced Jack’s operating room.

“Now, last I checked, counting cards is no crime,” Doc objects.

Wynonna sticks her head out of the kitchen to eyeball him. Doc rises from his seat and goes over to stand toe-to-toe with her, glaring down into her eyes, face a scant two inches from hers.

Something passes unspoken between the two of them, and Doc clears his throat.

“I’m going to go supervise the lady with her soup-making project,” he says. “I hear she once gave the whole town food poisoning, and you don’t want that, on top of whatever this is.”

Doc almost pushes Wynonna back into the kitchen, following close on her heels.

Dolls sighs, and flops back into the couch cushions.

—-

He must doze off, because the next thing he knows, he’s hearing a not-so-whispered debate coming from the kitchen. Their volume is steadily increasing, and he knows from experience that the sooner one can end such an argument, the better for everyone.

Dolls reminds them of his presence by blowing his nose loudly. The arguing cuts off, and Wynonna scurries back in.

“Are you okay? Can I get you more Nyquil? Or another pillow? Or some crackers?” she asks, hand darting out as if to straighten his blankets before retreating to her side to pick at the seam of her jeans.

Doc leans against the doorway. “Let the man breathe, Wynonna. He’s not dying.”

Wynonna scowls. “Coming from you, that’s not funny.”

Doc throws up his hands. “What is it with Earps and a lack of appreciation for a little gallows humor?” he asks rhetorically.

Dolls settles back into the couch and pouts.

 

After a thorough gauntlet of goading, Doc and Wynonna settle down and remember that they came in to check on Dolls. Silence falls, and they exchange a look before turning as one to stare at him.

“I’m the sick one here,” Dolls reminds them, voice an odd combination of brusque and hoarse. “And as the sick one, I want to spend the rest of my leave with you two.” He raises a hand when he sees them gather breath to start objecting. “Not with you arguing the whole time.”

Wynonna sighs, and Doc nods. “We can do that,” he says.

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “For you, I guess we can do almost anything.”

Doc gasps dramatically. “Why, Wynonna, was that sentiment, from you?”

Wynonna gives him the finger and walks away. Doc trails after her, and Dolls hears them arguing as they move around the kitchen, trying to rescue chicken soup attempt number four.

“Well, that really lasted,” he said, and pulled the blanket back up over his head. Maybe they’d be quieter tomorrow.


End file.
